Three Muses - Rain

As early as I can remember, I’ve loved rain. In our part of the Illinois prairie you could see the spring rain clouds building from miles away over the vast flatness, their skirts billowed out like great, clucking mother hens. By the time they reached the far edge of the cornfield beside the house, you could see the leading edge of the curtain of rain, and hear the distant patter of raindrops on the corn leaves. The patter crescendoed to a wonderful rat-tat-tat as the first big drops set off spurts of dust in the barnyard. Ah, the wonderful earthy, fresh, sweet smell of rain! Growing up, I remember sitting on the porch so I could savor every minute of a daytime shower. If the rain came at night when I was in my bed snugged up against a window under the eaves, I’d move my pillow and lie with my nose against the screen, watching the breeze toss the limbs of the old elm tree in the front yard where my rope swing hung. Summer thunderstorms were wonderful too. Sometimes the distant sky turned almost black, the clouds rolling and tumbling, shaking themselves free of lightning bolts that arced to earth over the dark, green fields, the distant rumbling thunder building to bone-jarring cracks that accompanied spectacular electrical displays as the storm moved overhead. Majestic. Magnificent. I don’t remember fear, only awe, and somehow reassurance that I was part of a great scheme of things. I still love a rainy day!